


Hold Me Any Way You Can

by whyyesitscar



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana doesn't have Brittany right now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have anyone. Post-"I Do" oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Any Way You Can

**Author's Note:**

> Had a bunch of Quinntana feelings and I know they're not going to resolve it the way I want them to. And I don't really have hope for Rachel either anymore, but I do still believe in Brittana, so let's just call this whole thing a coping mechanism. Lyrics at the beginning are from "Broken Moon" by Lowen & Navarro.

_when the soul gets weary, and the colors fade to blue,_   
_ain't it strange--somehow, you can see more clearly_   
_by the light of a broken moon?_

/

They make it more than a two-time or even a three-time thing. They make it so much more than that that when people ask later, and she knows they will, Santana will just quantify it as _a lot_.

It’s different, sleeping with Quinn Fabray. It’s slower and lighter and a lot more intense than she’s used to. The Quinn that Santana finds in bed isn’t the Quinn that she’s used to. She is more fragile, more pliable, softer than her steel-framed eyes suggest when they’re open. Having sex with Quinn surprises Santana—not because she lets Santana lead, but because they work together in a way that Santana wasn’t ready for. Not like she fits with Brittany, nothing will ever fit like Brittany does, but Quinn isn’t like the college girls she slept with either. Santana thinks that’s down to who Quinn is and how much they already know about each other. She may have tried it in high school, but Santana Lopez is not a creature made for casual sex.

Sleeping with Quinn is different because it isn’t about two people connecting. It’s about both of them being lonely together, which is sad, but definitely not as sad as being lonely by yourself.

They’re both so lonely that they spend the night together and when Santana wakes up, it’s the first time in a long while that she does so wrapped in the arms of a blonde. It hurts, but not in the way she thought it would.

Rachel had booked a flight back to New York for the night of the wedding, but Kurt and Santana decided to stay until the morning after. So Santana wakes up, rolls over and looks at Quinn and fights the urge to kiss her on the forehead. Everyone is smaller under the covers, but Quinn is positively miniscule.

They don’t say anything as they get dressed or at breakfast. Kurt texts her to say that Blaine is giving him a ride to the airport, so the only words Santana speaks are to ask Quinn if she wants to split a cab. They do, and the drive is silent, too.

The only time they acknowledge each other really is when they both get out. Their terminals are in different directions so they part almost immediately, but Santana can’t leave without saying something, doing _something_ , letting Quinn know that this wedding was a mistake, but it wasn’t theirs.

Quinn nods and shrugs, just as unable to form words, so they let their mouths do a different kind of talking. Quinn kisses her and Santana kisses back, and she isn’t sure if she wants to apologize or thank her, so she tries to say both.

She doesn’t look back as they walk away.

Kurt is waiting for her at the gate. He is just as silent as she is, which is how she knows that his head is about to explode.

“Have a good time?” she quips drily.

“The best,” Kurt answers, just as sincere.

Their seats are rows away from each other, and normally this wouldn’t bother Santana in the slightest. In high school she would have loved to be miles away from Kurt Hummel and the way even his breath was ostentatious. But today she is freaking out and she just needs someone who knows her. So she channels the other high school-Santana, and god help the woman sitting next to Kurt.

Kurt looks up as she comes to his aisle. “Santana?”

“Hi, Kurt,” she trills. “You and I are going to have a little chat. So that means _you_ ”—she turns her attention to the Chanel number five, my-hair-cost-more-than-your-house rich bitch sitting in the middle seat—“are going to switch seats with me.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough,” the woman mutters, barely looking up from her magazine.

“Oh, honey.” Santana bends down to eye level, waiting until she’s sure the woman is looking at her. “I don’t usually like to play this card, but my father, Luis, he’s our pilot, and I’m sure he could make this a _very_ uncomfortable trip for you today.”

“Like I’m gonna fall for that one.”

“‘Scuse me, folks, it’s gonna be a few moments before we start the taxi process,” a voice says over the speakers. “Just a last minute safety check they’re doing; shouldn’t be more than five or ten minutes. If you have any questions, my name is Luis and I’ll be your captain today.”

The woman rolls her eyes and gets up.

“17C,” Santana simpers.

“You are _magic_ ,” Kurt whispers as she sits down.

“I have my ways.”

“Must be a great chat we’re about to have.”

“Don’t talk to me until we’re done taking off, and if you tell anyone about what happens before that I’ll treat your boys to an early grave.”

“What?”

He understands perfectly seven minutes later when she’s got his arm in a death grip.

“You must not travel much,” he says when she finally lets go.

“Usually I have better distractions,” she replies. “I have something to tell you and you have to promise to keep the shrieking down.”

Kurt tucks his book into the seat pocket in front of him and pivots in his chair. “If it’s confession time, I have one to make as well. Just try not to yell at me too much; I never paid attention in Spanish class.”

Santana smacks him for that. “Ass. Just…take a breath and we’ll both spill, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She inhales and closes her eyes as they speak simultaneously.

“I had sex with Quinn.”

“I slept with Blaine.”

“What!”

“What!”

Santana’s eyes shoot open. “Are you getting back together?! Kurt Hummel, you’re such a fucking player!” She slaps him once more.

“You slept with Quinn Fabray?” he hisses.

“Yeah,” Santana murmurs, suddenly serious. “And I’m kind of flipping about it.”

“Why? You’re not seeing anyone. You don’t have any obligations.”

“I _do_ , though,” she mumbles.

“Santana,” Kurt says, his voice solid and assertive, “you don’t. You’re not with anyone, no matter what you might feel.”

She looks down at her lap, plays with her fingers, because Kurt Hummel has hit the nail on the head and it’s making her uncomfortable.

That’s the thing about Santana’s life. No matter what’s going on, no matter what the truth of everything is—who she’s with or whether she’s with anyone at all—she’ll always be with Brittany. Santana breathes Brittany. She cries, sighs, laughs and smiles Brittany. Santana loves Brittany and it’s more than just a feeling. It’s her entire state of being.

“I feel like an asshole,” she finally grumbles.

“I know,” Kurt replies, patting her hand. “I know.”

“Okay, so tell me all about Blaine, Ladyface. Is he still dreamy?  Do his big puppy eyes still make you swoon?” she teases.

“Yes,” he sighs.

“So _please_ tell me you’re getting back together, because one of us should.”

Kurt turns his head and looks out the window, exposing his sharp jawline in a perfect moment of drama. “I don’t know, Santana. He’s in Lima and I’m in New York and I’ve got Adam, and—”

“You don’t have Adam,” Santana interrupts. “Adam is your Quinn. You can fool around with him all you like, but you’re going to find your way back to Blaine eventually.”

“Does that mean you think you’re going to end up with Brittany again?”

“Don’t you think that about Blaine?” Santana deflects.

“I don’t know, Santana,” Kurt sighs again. “There are days where that’s all I want, but then there are days where I remember that he cheated on me.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t forgive him.”

“Should I, though?” Kurt asks, sniffling. “What does it say about me if I turn down a lovely guy in New York for the cheater from Ohio who broke my heart?”

“It doesn’t say anything about you. What the shit do other people know about your relationship with Blaine? If you want to forgive him, then fuck everyone else.”

“You have the grace of a poet, Santana.”

“Damn right I do.”

“Isn’t that the big deal-breaker, though? Cheating is the unforgivable sin.”

“You’ve been hanging around Rachel Berry too much if you think that.”

“Oh, Rachel’s Jewish,” Kurt scoffs, “she doesn’t even believe in sin like you do.”

“Then she’s not having any fun with it,” Santana quips.

(They laugh because everything else hurts).

“Would you take Brittany back if she cheated on you?”

“She wouldn’t,” Santana immediately replies.

“Yeah, but if she did,” Kurt pushes.

Santana doesn’t even have to think about the answer to that, but she pretends anyway because fuck if she’s going to cry in front of Kurt Hummel.

“Yeah, I would,” she whispers. “If I believed in deal-breakers, Brittany and I wouldn’t have gotten together at all.” Kurt looks at her quizzically, perfectly shaped eyebrows scrunching together. “I was messed up before we got together, you know,” she explains. “I was this girl feeling shit for her best friend that I didn’t want to deal with. So I slept with a bunch of guys, waiting for the right one that would make me stop feeling so shitty. Because even when I was sleeping with Puck or Finn or whoever else, I still felt like I was cheating on Brittany. Brittany was the one I was cheating _with_ , before we got together, but it never felt like that to me. I was always hers first. I still am.”

Kurt grabs her hand again and swipes his thumb across the back of it. She thinks he’s a saint for ignoring how she ended up crying anyway.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, compelling though it may be.” He laughs weakly.

She echoes him. “I cheated on her for two years before we even dated. If she can forgive me that, I can forgive her anything.”

“You are far more evolved than I gave you credit for, Santana.”

She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. “No, just very desperate.”

“Do you think I should take Blaine back?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I can’t tell you.”

“You’re no help,” Kurt grumps.

“I’m a big help. Just not in the way you want.”

Five minutes pass before Kurt speaks again. That tells Santana that he’s become a friend, because the silence is comfortable.

“Do you think you’ll get back together with Brittany?” Kurt asks again.

“I have to,” Santana murmurs. “I have to keep believing in her.”

Kurt moves her arm, lifts the armrest in between them, and rests his head on her shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, “I think she believes in you, too.”

They both sleep the rest of the way home.

/

“Five bucks says they’re fucking when we get in.”

“Don’t be crass, Santana. I hope they have the decency to wait.”

Still, Kurt pauses and listens with her when they get in front of their door. It’s silent, which is either a good sign or it means they’re being quiet, which is even grosser.

But the apartment is devoid of any naked boys, and apparently devoid of any tiny Jewish divas, too.

“Rachel?” Kurt calls out. “We’re back.”

She doesn’t answer. Kurt goes off in search of her while Santana grabs some water from the fridge. Airports always make her thirsty.

(Santana sips her water slowly and doesn’t think about what she’d be doing right now if her home were in Lima. She doesn’t think about the red plastic cup in Brittany’s cabinet that she always grabs because red is her color. She doesn’t think about how water tastes better from that cup, how anything would taste better in that cup because it’s Brittany’s. She doesn’t think about all of these things, and they definitely don’t make her grip her not-plastic, not-red cup a little tighter.)

“Santana?” Kurt interrupts her not-thinking, which is okay with her. “We have a bit of a situation.”

“A Rachel situation?” Santana wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t that more your area?”

“It might be, but I can’t really understand what she’s saying right now. So as soon as you decipher her crying, I’ll take it from there.”

“What, I’m supposed to understand her with my magic girl powers?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know, she keeps shoving a date book at me but I don’t know what it means.”

“Oh, shit.”

It means exactly what she thinks it does, especially when Rachel nods at the question of “You’re late?”

Santana wants to be angry because Rachel is smarter than this, but she knows very well that the smartest girls can still make the dumbest decisions.

She drops the date book in Kurt’s lap as she walks out of Rachel’s bedroom. “Find out who knocked her up. I have to make a call.”

She’s dialing the number before she even has a chance to talk herself out of it. It’s instinct more than anything, but it’s a lot of panic, too. Covering all of her bases has never seemed more important.

“Santana? Are you there?”

She smiles. “Hey, Britt-Britt. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Brittany answers. “Are you?”

“Yeah, of course,” she assures. “I just—well, I have something I want to tell you. And I don’t really have to, because you’re with Sam, but I also want to apologize for something else and I guess it’s better to just get it all out there.”

“What?”

Santana takes a deep breath. “I guess I didn’t have to tell you about Elaine because technically there was nothing to tell, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been holding out on you on other stuff.”

“Okay…”

“I mean, Elaine wasn’t my girlfriend but I have slept with other girls at school.”

“I figured,” Brittany says quietly, like a blush made out of words.

“And I slept with Quinn last night at the wedding,” Santana finishes, getting it out before she loses all confidence.

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

This is the kind of silence that she rarely shares with Brittany, but it’s all they’ve got now.

“Are you okay, Britt?”

“Not really,” Brittany whimpers. “I can’t really breathe.”

“Go squish Tubbs; that always makes you feel better.”

“I can’t,” Brittany gasp-laughs. “I’m not at home.”

“Oh. Are you…?” But that question is better left unfinished. “Never mind,” Santana grumbles.

“I’m out with my parents, San.”

“Oh, okay.” She pretends not to feel as relieved as she really does. “Are you mad at me?”

“I shouldn’t be. But it sure feels like I am.”

“I’m sorry,” Santana whispers.

“Don’t apologize, Santana,” Brittany whispers. “It’s—I’m being silly.” She sniffles and Santana has to laugh because she knows exactly what Brittany looks like right now, swiping her nose with the back of her hand, the tip as red as Rudolph’s. Santana would always tease her for it. It was the secret that always got the tears to stop.

She has half a mind to try it now, but the erratic beating of her heart warns against what might happen if it fails.

“Why did you tell me?” Brittany asks, her voice half an octave too low to be happy.

“I just…I guess I’m not obligated to tell you anything right now. I mean, sure, I could have not told you. But even if I’m just your best friend, I owe you honesty. And”—she shuffles her feet because this sounds like she’s blaming Brittany but she isn’t; it’s just this whole situation sucks—“I didn’t want you to find out like Tina told me about you and Sam.”

“Oh.” Brittany coughs. “Well, thanks then.”

“Sure,” Santana hums.

(There are three voices in Santana’s head that are telling her not to ask. But her heart is telling her something else entirely, and her heart has always been Brittany’s.)

“Do you believe in us, Britt?” she finally stammers.

“Sometimes I don’t want to,” Brittany mumbles. “But I’ll always believe in you, Santana. I’m your biggest fan, remember?”

“Yeah,” Santana laughs. “Yeah, how could I forget that?”

“Well if you forget again, I’ll remind you, okay?”

“Okay,” Santana breathes. “I lo—”

“Bye, San,” Brittany says apologetically.

She’s mad for a moment, but it’s better that way. Now is the time for just believing.

Rachel and Kurt are sitting in silence when she walks back in. Santana sits in front of Rachel, making sure she’s paying attention before she speaks.

“Are you pregnant?” she asks bluntly.

“I don’t know,” Rachel mutters.

“Have you taken a test?”

“No.”

“Well, before you wallow too much, you’re going to go to the nearest drug store, buy a test, and pee on that thing, because I will not let you have Brody’s disgusting bastard love-child.”

“Santana,” Rachel chides.

“What? I’m hilarious and I keep it real. You love it,” Santana teases.

Rachel laughs. “Did you have fun at the wedding?” she says, wiping her eyes.

“Well,” Santana squirms. “Maybe a little _too_ much fun.”

“What?”

“Santana slept with Quinn!” Kurt reveals.

“You little shit!” Santana punches him this time. “Stop telling all my secrets!”

“You slept with _Quinn?_ ” Rachel cries.

“What?” Santana shrugs. “She’s hot.”

“But…Quinn!” Rachel yells again.

Santana rolls her eyes. “Yes, Quinn,” she repeats. “What’s the big deal; _he_ slept with Blaine.” She points an accusatory finger at Kurt.

“Kurt!” Rachel screeches. “Oh my god, that’s so great! Are you getting back together?”

“Hey, woah, not fair! He sleeps with someone and it’s great, but I sleep with the only other hot chick at McKinley and I just get yelled at?”

“Yes, but he slept with _Blaine_ ,” Rachel says, as if it explains everything. “I mean, if you had slept with Bri—” Rachel cuts herself off at Kurt’s insistent head-shaking.

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you, Berry.”

“Sorry,” Rachel mumbles. “Well, in the interest of full disclosure,” she continues, “I slept with someone, too.”

“Yeah, you and Brody are boinking all the time,” Santana sneers. “Gag me.”

“No, I mean at the wedding.”

It takes a moment to sink in.

“Rachel!” Kurt gasps. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

She just starts crying again, which is more of an answer than either of them need.

Santana disappears to the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of rum that she knows Brody’s been hiding. She uncorks it and takes a huge swig before passing it to Kurt.

“Congratulations to us for getting laid and being the saddest fucks ever about it.” Kurt takes a big gulp and hands it to Rachel, who eyes it warily. “It can’t really hurt you at this point, Rach,” Santana says, leaning her head against Rachel’s bed. “Hell, maybe it’ll do the job for you.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Santana.”

Santana shrugs. “I’m a terrible person.”

“Not always,” Kurt says, passing the bottle back to her. “But you’ll need more rum for that.”

They all drink and laugh and cry and drink some more until they can’t tell what kind of people they are.

/

She wakes up to a buzzing by her head. Her phone is vibrating against Rachel’s floor, lighting up with a text.

**[From: Quinn]** _I’m okay. You okay?_

Santana smiles before texting back.

_Yeah, I’m okay._

She isn’t sure if she means it, but she knows it isn’t a lie, and that’s a good sign.


End file.
